Chapter 29: Hidden Murder of the Hanlin Scholar

At this point, no one paid attention to Wu Jinrong anymore; he had claimed he would compose a poem in response once Jia Cong finished, but Jia Cong had produced such an extraordinary plum blossom verse.

A man as clever and calculating as Wu Jinrong would not dare show his face again; everyone was lost in savoring Jia Cong’s new poem, having long forgotten this tedious man.

This literary gathering was meant for poetic exchange, not like the imperial examinations to rank participants by merit; all poems composed here were compiled into volumes without distinction of quality for appreciation.

Yet in everyone’s hearts, Jia Cong’s “Bu Suan Zi: Ode to Plum Blossoms” was already regarded as the finest of this gathering.

Liu Yanxiu and others were just about to call Jia Cong over to speak, but a crowd had gathered around the scribe’s desk—some praising Jia Cong’s calligraphy, others admiring the new verse.

Others introduced themselves, eager to make acquaintance with this rising star of the gathering, while maidservants approached to invite Jia Cong to the stone pavilion; the scene grew noisy and chaotic.

Suddenly, a shrill, panicked cry rang out: “Cousin! What’s wrong with you? Quick, quick… someone, there’s a murder!”

The bustling crowd around the scribe’s desk froze at the chilling sound.

Everyone turned to locate the source and saw a man slumped motionless in a seat across Qingqu River, like a clay statue or wax figure—unnervingly still.

The Prince’s guards surged forward, swords drawn, and in an instant surrounded the stone pavilion completely.

“Your Highness, Wu Jinrong’s body is still warm, and the blood on the ground hasn’t congealed—the killer must have acted only moments ago and likely hasn’t escaped the estate yet; I’ve ordered guards to seal all four gates.”

“Your Highness, the victim is Wu Jinrong, a junior scholar of the Hanlin Academy; he was stabbed from behind, the blade piercing straight through his heart, then swiftly withdrawn, causing all his blood to drain from the back.”

In the stone pavilion were not only Prince Jia Shun, but also the literary sage Liu Yanxiu and the Zhengyi Daoist Master Zhang Tianshi—all the most important figures here, whose safety was paramount.

The speaker was Liu Xiangyong, commander of the Prince’s guards, a thirty-year-old man with a robust frame, clad in armor, a broadsword at his waist, a short mustache, and eyes gleaming with sharpness.

At this moment, everyone sensed a chilling, nauseating stench of blood beginning to fill the air.

The man was Qiu Xuan, who had just publicly humiliated Jia Cong.

Prince Jia Shun’s face darkened with fury: “How bold this thief is—to murder in broad daylight, to insult us so outrageously!”

The blade did not pierce the chest, so there was no visible wound on the front; the killer’s technique was expert—Wu Jinrong must have died instantly, without even time to struggle.”

Liu Xiangyong, seal all four gates of the villa—allow entry, but no one leaves. Do not let the killer escape.”

The scholars attending the gathering were thrown into panic; a group of Prince’s guards had already surrounded them—to protect them, and to monitor them, preventing further incidents.

Even Qiu Xuan, trembling like a leaf, was restrained by two guards.

Though the man’s head was bowed, obscuring his face, his attire and slightly stout build unmistakably matched Wu Jinrong, who had just mocked Jia Cong’s poetry.

Wang Dong, accompanied by Liu Xiangyong, went to examine Wu Jinrong’s corpse and soon returned to the stone pavilion.

Near him stood a young scholar of average build, pale-faced, terrified, and staggering backward several steps in trembling fear.

Wang Dong, immediately send word to Zhen’an Prefecture—have them send officers to apprehend the killer.”

I want to ask Zhang Shou’an—how dare he serve as Prefect of Zhen’an? A killer dares murder within my villa—this is lawlessness!”

Jia Cong’s heart pounded wildly; in both his lifetimes combined, this was his first time standing at a murder scene—and the victim had just been boasting before him.

The entire Shuyun Villa was heavy with oppressive silence; time crawled by minute by minute. The once eloquent elders and renowned scholars now sat listless, filled with dread.

They had come to the Nanxi Literary Gathering with dignity, yet now someone had been murdered right before their eyes; the Prince had sealed all four gates, trapping the killer inside the villa.

These refined scholars, now sharing the villa with a ruthless murderer—if the killer realized escape was impossible and chose to kill again in rage, they might all lose their lives.

Nearly an hour passed in this tense wait, when a guard at the gate reported: Prefect Zhang Shou’an of Zhen’an, accompanied by his judge, coroner, and a large contingent of constables and yamen runners, had arrived at the villa’s threshold.

Since the founding of the Great Zhou, the capital city of Shenjing had undergone massive construction, expanding its walls until it became the largest metropolis in the Eastern Continent.

Merchants from north and south, envoys from distant lands, all flocked toward the magnificent, thriving capital as if paying homage.

The original single prefectural office could no longer handle the administrative burdens of the expanding city; during the Hongxuan Emperor’s reign, an edict was issued to establish a second prefecture.

Thus arose the current arrangement: Qinian Prefecture governed the eastern city, Zhen’an Prefecture governed the western city.

Prefect Zhang Shou’an was a forty-year-old official, a graduate of the imperial examinations, who had endured decades of bureaucratic ups and downs, his beard now white, before finally securing the post of Zhen’an Prefect.

This was the peak of his lifelong career; though mediocre in talent, he was diligent, and in two years as prefect, he had worked faithfully without major incidents.

He had hoped to endure another year or two in this post, wait for the next evaluation, and secure a better posting—by fifty, he could retire in peace.

Yet after the New Year, under his jurisdiction, a killer had openly murdered within Prince Jia Shun’s villa.

Upon hearing the news, he leapt from his newly acquired concubine’s bed, scrambling out in haste, gathering Zhen’an’s most capable judge and constables, and raced to Shuyun Villa like the wind.

Prince Jia Shun had hosted several Nanxi Literary Gatherings, earning not only great literary renown in Shenjing and admiration among scholars, but also considerable fame across the entire Great Zhou.

Now, a distinguished scholar attending the gathering had been murdered in broad daylight—how could Prince Jia Shun save face? His gaze upon the arriving Prefect Zhang Shou’an was cold indeed.

Zhang Shou’an, seeing the Prince’s icy expression, grew uneasy; Prince Jia Shun was close to the current Emperor—if he reported this incident to His Majesty, Zhang’s tenure as prefect would be over.

The only course now was to find the killer swiftly, to make amends.

He thus ordered his coroner to examine the corpse and consulted Wang Dong on the full sequence of events.

The coroner’s findings were reported soon after—nearly identical to what Commander Liu Xiangyong had stated.

Zhang Shou’an then arranged for interrogations and records of every attendee of the gathering; even Jia Cong was questioned by a yamen runner—the entire process appeared orderly and professional.

But Jia Cong watched with skepticism; though unfamiliar with investigations, he had noticed many people clustered near the scribe’s desk, leaving the seats closest to Wu Jinrong empty.

Those seated farther away were too distant to strike conveniently—questioning these helpless scholars now served little purpose.

It gave the killer time to breathe—and perhaps escape the villa.

Amid the chaos, another guard at the gate reported: Left-Deputy Minister of the Temple of the Imperial Horses and Director of the Judicial Court, Zhou Jun, requests an audience.

(End of Chapter)